Tenebrae
by Musicalrain
Summary: Tenebrae - Latin for darkness, gloom. Fala Mahariel & Alistair never escape Fort Drakon. The Blight ensues around them, and it is up to Riordan to see to the Blight's end. Multiple pairings & F!Mahariel/Zevran. Rated M for Dark Fic. Some OCs. Switching POVs. Cover made by me. Deviantart: Musicalrain0 ON TEMPORARY HIATUS.
1. Chapter 1

_Note: This is rated M for dark-fic, and will include torture and rape. Not all chapters will be dark, but many. This chapter has mentions of rape. Please use caution if you are sensitive to such subjects._

…_..._

_Elgar'nan _this was a bad idea. When Eamon brought me to the seth'lin, I should have known. Who's to say that this asha could have any idea on how to rescue her Queen? How could a maid know how to scheme? And just how is it that Eamon was convinced this would work? Because the seth'lin was in tears? Because she begged? How can she even be trusted? She could very well be a spy for all we know. She could be leading us to our deaths. Things haven't been going so well so far. The durgen'len is evidence of that.

"They'd ne'er think me a guard toots."

I pinch the bridge of my nose in frustration yet again. _Why'd __I __bring __the __dwarf? __Creators __preserve __us._

"Just _try _Oghren. We might just fool them. They _are _Howe's men. The shemlen will just think you stout."

I feel a slight pressure through the unfamiliar padding now donning my arm, and turn to see Zevran with his helmet's visor raised, "I do not think our dwarven friend can even get the armor on, mi amor."

"_Emma __lath_," I hiss. My hands clenching into fists at my sides. The dwarf is running my patience thin. "We do not have time for discussion." I turn my attention back to the dwarf, as he still looks warily at the armor he holds loosely in his hands. "Put. It. _On_."

"You know, you could try asking nicely."

I turn to look at Alistair as he straightens the gauntlet on his arm. "You heard me. I _have_ lethallin. I would not have brought him, had Leliana not already left with the other two shemlen asha for the market." _Leliana __would've __been __better __to __bring. __She __has __experience __with __this __sort __of __thing, __doesn't __she?_

"I 'em standin' right her' y'know."

In order to keep Oghren and the rattling he's making with the far too large armor less noticeable, although Mythal only knows if that's even _possible,_he is wedged between Alistair and the seth'lin asha in front of Zevran and myself. The pilfered guards armor is a bit large on my slender frame as well, so I stay close to the walls with Zevran on the outside. I pray to the Creators that none notice that the durgen'len or myself are far from shemlen. We must find the shemlen _Queen _after all, and return her to Eamon.

The estate is opulent, if one cares for the petty objects that the shemlen adorn their stone and mortar shelters with, but the guards guarding these trinkets are the daftest shemlen I have ever seen. _Oghren. _I groan internally, at just how... _ridiculous _this is. I can scarcely believe that we've gone unnoticed so far.

The seth'lin leads us to a door that appears quite solid and fortified with its many locks in place, but what is most curious is that the door shines in a way that reminds me of the lyrium vials the mages take to augment their powers.

The seth'lin steps up towards the door, and we follow her as she says, "The Grey Wardens are here, my lady."

A muffled, but clearly feminine sounding voice travels through the heavy wood of the door. "Thank the Maker! If I could, I would greet you all properly, but I'm afraid we've had a set-back."

I fight the urge to roll my eyes at her choice of words. If she knew her rescuer was Dalish, she may not be quite so polite. "What do you mean?" I ask in a tone of voice that is void of all emotion. I see Zevran quirk a brow at me due to this, even through his helmet. His expression is questioning. He knows I'm uncomfortable. Fained courtesy makes me uncomfortable. Pretending to be a shemlen guard makes me uncomfortable. I frown at Zevran's concern. I have a weak spot for the flat-ear. The Queen's voice brings my attention back towards the door.

"Howe was not content with leaving me only under heavy guard. He's sealed the door by magic."

Precisely why the door is shimmering blue, as I suspected. But, I am not very familiar with magic. I know my adda was Keeper, but I was never taught the intricacies of the Beyond's powers. I did not inherit my father's skills. "Then how are we to open it?"

"You must find the mage that cast the spell. Howe will most likely keep him close."

If it only were so simple a matter. We must have the mage undo the spell, and it won't be a simple matter of asking. "So much for secrecy," I huff half-heartedly under my breath. Attempts at monotone temporarily forgotten.

"Well, if he didn't know you were here, he soon will."

I grin widely despite the sarcasm apparent in the Queen's voice. "Good. I wanted to see that _shemlen_ anyway."

"Thank you Wardens. My prayers go with you." Apparently she didn't catch the threat in my voice. Or she doesn't care for the fate of her capturer.

"Arl Howe will probably be in his rooms. They're at the end of the hall on the left." The seth'lin advises.

As we venture down the long hall, I can't help but have my mind wander. This entire situation is eerily similar to something in my past amongst my people. With the Sabrae.

"Keeper Marethari!" I turn around to see Junar run into our settlement between the aravels as fast as he possibly can. He's out of breath, and panting as he comes to a stop and collapses on his knees in front of the Keeper. "Mare-thari," he wheezes.

"What is it, da'len?" Keeper Marethari asks as she kneels down in front of the struggling hunter.

"I-Ineria," he stutters. "Shem-shemlen. She's... They..."

He starts mumbling quietly and nearly incoherently, and I inch closer to better hear what is the matter. Junar and Ineria went on a hunt this afternoon with the intentions of gaining a bearskin for Ilen's use. For him to return without her, something must be very wrong. All hunters stay in pairs at all times for our safeties.

"T-t-they bound and... and gaged her. I-I-I... T-too many shemlen. I cannot... We must save her! Keeper! Please! Please!"

Two nearby elders move to lead Junar away at a motion from Marethari. Seeing me nearby, the Keeper waves me over to her. "I believe Huntress Ineria is still alive. I have not yet felt Fen'Harel's presence, Fala. Please gather some of our hunters and follow the trail our brother has left to these shemlen." She puts a hand on my shoulder, "Do what you must to see to Ineria's safety. Dareth shiral, da'len. May the Creators watch over us all."

I go to my close friend and hunting companion, Tamlen, and tell him what I know of the situation. We gather our friend Fenarel, and the hunters Aelwen, Loki, and Zakhar. We go to the edge of our settlement, where I saw Junar enter, and it's clear as day to see his trail. With his frantic running, he had trampled the low-growing plant life, and snapped several branches of trees. All six of us take care to keep our feet silent as we follow the trail, not knowing just how far and wide these shemlen have traveled.

After walking for nearly half an hour of sunlight, I start to hear low and muffled voices in the distance, and the baying of some sort of animal. Perhaps a donkey. But I cannot be certain, as I've only seen one twice before. I have been on more hunts than Tamlen and Loki, but not as many as Aelwen. Zakhar, Fenarel and myself had completed our training as hunters in the same season. Tamlen and Loki are roughly four years my junior, and are still new to hunting. Tamlen, for having the brash nature of many of our young people, although I am far from an _elder_, has been a good friend to me since I've been quite young. Despite the age difference, we grew through our childhoods together.

I clear my head of such thoughts, as we duck low into the thick brush to peer at the seen below us on the small hill. There is a caravan of shemlen with two carts, two donkey, and three horses. There are roughly two shy of a dozen shemlen standing in the open. Five brandish weapons, and all are male. Three of the weapon wielding shemlen are standing in a half-circle around a fat, balding shemlen with his trousers pulled down to his knees kneeling between the legs of Ineria. I feel my jaw clench at seeing that, and my hands involuntarily ball into fists. Those shemlen would not have been able to get to her, had Junar and Ineria been together. They must have separated at some point, and Ineria was overwhelmed. That is the only way I could see the huntress being captured at the shemlen's hands.

We are outnumbered by the shemlen, but we outnumber those with weapons. There is the possibility that there are shemlen in the woods nearby, but the humans like to stay on marked trails and do not generally travel the woods on foot. We can be assured that there are only ten men to deal with. They will pay for defiling our sister with their lives.

There is one armed shemlen at each end, front and back, of the caravan, and the remaining three swordsmen flank the boar-like man. Aelwen offers to take the one at the back with a subtle hand gesture, and Zakhar nods to take the other at the front of the carts. Fenarel, Tamlen, Loki and I make our way towards flat ground on crouched legs and silent feet. Each of us slowly and quietly remove our bows and notch our arrows once the group of men around Ineria come into easy sight. I nod towards the boar, and the others each aim at a swordsman in turn as they allow me the kill of the defiler. We wait for Zakhar to signal, as his target was the furthest away, and it would take him the most time to get into position.

We hear the awaited turkey call, and a second later our arrows are soaring effortlessly through the air. Each man falls dead with an arrow in their right eye. The boar has, unfortunately, slumped forward on Ineria in death, and I can see her squirm to be free of his weight. The other four shemlen are killed swiftly by Aelwen, Zakhar, Tamlen and I.

We wait silently for the possible arrival of any other shemlen from the wood, and when none emerge we walk towards the still bound and gaged prone form of Ineria. Tamlen helps me push the dead boar-man off of our huntress sister, and Fenarel tends to the removal of the ropes tied around Ineria's slim wrists.

Her wrists are bruised, her right elbow looks broken, and her face is a hodgepodge of bruises and split skin. Her bared thighs are matted with blood and bruises too. If I could, I would kill the shemlen again.

Ineria does not cry. What I can see of her eyes beneath the swelling, are watered. Her body shakes with a fine shiver, and she has not yet stood.

I crouch next to her, next to Fenarel, and say, "You are safe now, lethallan. You need not fear them anymore."

"Din harel shemlen," she whispers. "Harel halam."

_I __do __not __fear __the __humans. __I __fear __the __end._

I snap back to reality. To the metallic _clunk _of my booted feet against the polished floors of Howe's estate. I cannot shake the feeling that I remembered what happened to Ineria, what she said to me, for a reason. That her words were sent to me from the Creators themselves. I must heed them. I must tread carefully in this task. Something is amiss.

…...

_Note: This story is a mabari-plot-puppy that I adopted from the author Apollo Wings. So you have her to thank for the idea/inspiration for this story! Give her all the hugs! :3 Also, I'd like to thank my new and awesome beta-reader FalconHawk! Go ahead and read his story "Rise of the Wardens," if you haven't already. You'll like it. ;) I'll try to update for this story once a week, but they may be sporadic on occasions. I will be using Spanish for Antivan, and there'll be lots of elvish. Here are the translations, and thanks for taking the time to read! :D_

_Translations:_

_Elgar'nan: the All-Father. God of vengeance and fatherhood. _

_seth'lin: 'thin blood'. - An insult directed at non-human outsiders._

_asha: 'girl'_

_durgen'len: 'dirt children'. - Elvish word for dwarves._

_shemlen: 'quick children'. - A name for humans._

_mi amor: Spanish for 'my love'._

_Emma lath: 'My love'_

_adda: non-canon elvish word for 'father'_

_Fen'Harel: the Dread Wolf, Lord of Tricksters, and Roamer of the Beyond._

_Dareth shiral: 'safe journey'. - Used as a farewell._

_da'len: 'little child'_

_Din harel shemlen: 'I do not fear the humans'_

_Harel halam: 'I fear the end'_


	2. Chapter 2

We made our way to Howe's room in tense silence.

"I think this is it," Alistair said in a quiet tone, as we came across a door of deep mahogany wood with golden accents and brass rivets. The Howe heraldry was carved into the door's face.

"It certainly seems that way," I reply, then nod to the others in a signal to prepare themselves. They put their hands on their weapons, and inch closer to each other in expectation of battle.

Except, no one was there. We open the door, and the room is vacant. Zevran takes no time at all to go snooping through Howe's belongings, and I join him with a nod to the others to keep watch near the door. I head towards a large, carved chest near the extravagant bedside. I pull at the latches and it opens without resistance. Howe is so arrogant that he doesn't even lock his door, let alone his chests. The shemlen believes his power is so great that none would even bother to disturb his belongings. Inside the chest I find documents stamped with the distinctive Grey Warden heading and broken wax seals. Some parchments are dirty and battered, whereas others appear to be official documents. Although, the true nature of the letters I cannot discern. It appears to be written in a language I do not know.

"Lethallin," I say addressing Alistair. "Look. Do you understand this writing?"

Alistair leaves Oghren and makes his way over towards me with a brow raised in curiosity. I hand him the letters, and he shakes his head. "It don't, but... see how things are written here." He points to one of the more battered parchments, "I think this might be a list of some kind."

I sigh and take the letters back, stuffing them in my pouch for safe keeping. "Someone was keeping track of something. These may be important."

"Fala, mi amor," Zevran calls over towards me. He's further down the wall from where the chest rests in front of an unadorned slightly smaller door. "I believe this is a personal door to the dungeons, no?"

"Maybe da Blighter's down 'n there," says Oghren as he stomps over. The hall outside the main door has been quiet since we've entered. There doesn't seem to be a patrol in this corridor. "Wouldn't surprise meh if 'e likes a good torturin' before turnin' in fer the night. Ya know. Da smell of blood 'n sound 'er screams 'll make ya wanna turn in early."

I sigh, "Who knows... Let's take a look. Everyone, be on guard."

We head down a small, dirty hallway to another plain door, and when I push it open a shemlen guard standing in front of a cell door to my right yells out,

"Oi! Who goes there?"

Suddenly a pair of arms emerge from between the bars, and wrap themselves around the guard. None of us caring for a guard's fate who could potentially alert others to our presence, watch as those arms strangle the guard and snap his neck with a sickening crack just before his body falls lifeless to the ground.

I take a few cautious steps back, despite the feeling of a familiar hum in my blood. The man is either tainted or another Warden. He may even be covered in darkspawn blood for all I know. We hear the rust of the cell door creak open, and see the guard's body being slowly dragged into the cell. I do not know if the prisoner is dangerous or not, and do not care to have my own neck broken in such a manner. Our hands are firmly placed onto our weapons, and minutes go by until we see the prisoner emerge from his cell. He is a tall shemlen with dark hair and beard, but light skinned. His shoulders are wide, yet his body is slim. He does not brandish his weapons, so we do not remove ours.

"I have been waiting far too long for a chance to gain my freedom. I cannot thank you enough strangers for providing such a timely distraction. It seems luck is finally on my side." He seems half-starved, as his cheeks are hollowed and gaunt. I can see the honesty of his words in his red-eyed, watery gaze. It is odd, even in my experience as a Warden, for a human to be so genuine towards me at first glance. The only other that has done so is Alistair's uncle Bann Teagan. Most times I am met with hostility or contempt.

"Perchance could you..." His voice trails off as his gaze is drawn to the only shemlen in my party. "Alistair? Is that you?"

"Who... Wait." Alistair looks up sharply and meets the other shemlen's gaze. "I know you! You were at my Joining." Alistair looks towards me and explains, "He's a Warden... from Orlais." Alistair brings a gauntleted hand to his forehead in thought. "Jader, I think... I apologize, but I don't remember your name."

The former prisoner bows towards me in introduction, "I'm Senior Warden Riordan of Jader, but born and raised in Highever. I'm glad to be home, despite the circumstances."

I cross a single arm across my chest, and lower my head politely, "I am Fala Mahariel, formally of the Sabrae, and now of the Grey Wardens. Andaran atish'an, lethallin. It is a pleasure to meet another of my Warden brothers."

He raises a brow questioningly, "A Dalish? I was not aware one of the people was within the ranks of Ferelden's Grey Wardens."

I roll my eyes, despite attempting to be polite to another Warden. "Yes... Very unusual, I know. I joined at Ostagar," he nods, and I purse my lips together. "What are you doing here?"

"Trying to keep my mouth shut mostly." He rakes a hand through his oily, loose hair before he continues to explain, "When King Cailan failed to send word to Orlais as to the outcome at Ostagar, I was sent here. Some time ago, the King had invited the Orlesian Wardens and their support troops to join him in the battle, then... nothing."

It is as I thought. I tilt my head in consideration before I ask curiously, "How large a force did the Orlesians intend to send?"

"In total, roughly two-hundred Wardens, and two-dozen divisions of cavalry." He clasps his hands behind his back as he continues, "Our troops were turned back at the boarder, however, and that was the first we had heard of Loghain's edict. Then whispers reached us that the Grey Wardens were being blamed for the King's slaughter and the massacre at Ostagar. We needed to find a way to fight the Blight and Loghain's regime both, so we decided it was wisest to send someone across the boarder alone. I thought it was best if I volunteered to make the journey, since I am native to Ferelden and know the land."

I nod my head, and open the pouch at my belt. Perhaps he knows more of the documents I found earlier. "Are these your documents?"

He takes them from my hands, as recognition sparks behind his eyes. "Yes, these are the records I've collected during my time here. The names of the dead I could recognize at Ostagar, what I could find of Duncan's own recruitment records, and pieces of the Joining ritual I rescued from our Denerim vault. They are encrypted to ensure that no outside eyes see them. They are invaluable, and critically important to the Wardens."

I thought strikes me instantly, "The Joining ritual, you said? Can you allow others to become Grey Wardens?" We are desperate for men. In face of the civil war, and the treaties we've seen to, we still need Wardens. There is only two, now three, of us that can sense the taint. Wardens would be invaluable in fighting the horde.

"For the Joining to work, the recruit needs not only fresh darkspawn blood, but a drop of blood preserved from an archdemon. Ferelden's supply was in the vault, and fortunately I was able to secure it. I have hidden it with the aid of a trusted Chantry priest, Mother Perpetua. I pray that she has kept it safe. I can only imagine if someone found it, and Loghain either confiscated it, or destroyed it. It would be most unfortunate."

I smile, although it is more of a smirk, "Very good, lethallin. Then we will have more people able to fight this Blight affectively." He nodded, and then I asked, "Where is the shemlen Howe?"

He nodded his head towards his right before saying, "I saw him going to the lower dungeons and cells not too long ago. He may still be there."

"How did the shemlen capture you?" I am curious at how this happened. Riordan seems quite intelligent, for a shem... but he is a Warden. Which doesn't exactly help Alistair's case all the time...

His face creases in disgust. "I was foolish to think that Loghain and his lackeys did not yet know who or what I am. Howe offered me his hospitalities, and a poisoned chalice."

Still a bit curious, as he has been offering me plenty of information, I ask, "Is there more you can tell me about the Grey Wardens?"

He shakes his head, obviously conscious on how much time we've spent talking, "This is hardly the best place to continue this conversation. And I must see to Mother Perpetua. It is of vital importance that I recover the remainder of the Archdemon blood. If Loghain knew of my identity, it would not be too far of a stretch to assume he too knows of those loyal to the Wardens, and to me."

Alistair interjected, before I could make some comment he probably wouldn't like very much. What Riordan said was a little too... snippy for my tastes. "We've been staying at Arl Eamon's estate off the market district. If you need a place to stay, I'm sure he'd make you welcome there. His men will ensure your safety as well."

Riordan nods eagerly, "At Arl Eamon's then." He pauses after a few steps and turns towards me, "And goodluck, sister."

"The Joining ritual, then?" Alistair says once Riordan has left through the door leading towards the bedroom. "I have no doubt more Wardens would be useful."

I nod, "Of that we are in agreement, lethallin."

I look towards Zevran and recall a time when the flat-ear had asked me of my own circumstances to joining the ranks of the Wardens. As Riordan pointed out, it is unusual for a Dalish to become a Warden. By Dirthamen, it is uncommon to see a Dalish outside of the wood.

"So, mi diosa," Zevran says to me as we lay together in my tent. I'm half asleep curled up on his bared chest, his fingers cascading through my long, smooth raven locks spread across his bronzed skin and stark black tattoos. "You have asked me much about my time in Antiva, and as a Crow, sí? Would you mind terribly if I asked you some questions in return?"

Too warm and content to disagree, I reply, "If you wish, emma vhenan'ara."

"Why is it you left your people?"

My body tenses, and Zevran rubs gently along my scalp to encourage me to relax. I have not told my tale to anyone, the only person to know was the shemlen Duncan.

I let in and out a deep breath before I speak, "As a huntress you must always stay in pairs, as it is too dangerous to travel otherwise. My partner for most hunts was Tamlen. He was... my closest friend, I suppose. He... desired me, but I did not return his advances. He, he was impulsive. Foolish. Long story short, he got the both of us tainted. From dark-magic, I believe. Duncan was there. In the forest. He took me back to my clan, and... well, we couldn't find Tamlen. Keeper Marethari stabilized me as best she could, but she knew of no cure for the taint. The shem said he could cure me, so since I wanted to live, I left with him. By becoming a Warden, I was able to live. And by becoming a Warden, I cannot return to my clan. Now I am of the Grey Wardens, and not of the people. I am Dalish, but no longer."

"I believe you are still very much Dalish, my Warden," he rubs a thumb over my forest-green markings on my forehead, "You still bear the tattoos of your people."

I sigh, "My vallaslin. It's a permanent mark. It cannot be removed as your tattoos can."

"Vallaslin, then," I giggle softly at his pronunciation of the elvish word with his thick accent. "I've heard these to be meaningful things. Is this true?"

I straighten my head and fold my hands beneath my chin as I look at him, "Each honors one of the Creators. They are marks of adulthood, and are chosen after much meditation. Both the shapes and colors are significant."

"And what is the significance of yours, diosa?"

I trace the markings on my forehead and chin from memory and say, "The green color is for Adahlen, the Forest. Vir Adahlen, the Way of the Forest, is the third of Vir Tanadahl, the Way of Three Trees. They are testaments of hunters. Vir Adahlen shows that together we are stronger than one. The shape honors Falon'Din, or the Friend of the Dead, the Guide. Falon'Din is the Creator of Death and Fortune."

I pause and recall the moments of solitude I spent in preparation for my vallaslin. "When I meditated I saw a sickly deer falling into the Beyond. That is how I knew to honor Dirthamen's twin brother." I tilt my head onto my hands, "I had first thought that my choosing of Falon'Din and Adahlen was sent by my parents, as both adda and mamae have been taken by Fen'Harel. But now I believe it is because of Tamlen and Duncan. Tamlen's foolishness sentenced me to my death, but Duncan saved me by allowing me to join the Wardens. Falon'Din and Vir Adahlen."

Zevran lays back and I see his eyes look towards the top of the tent. "I do not pretend to understand Dalish custom, but it seems as though your decision was wise."

I giggle and kiss his chest, "We are a complex people."

The memory fades from my mind as I look to my companions, to my Warden brother. In light of what Riordan has told us, I believe the Grey Wardens may be a more complex group.

…...

_Note: Little longer chapter for all of you wonderful readers. And no need for any content warnings. :) If you ever have any questions, feel free to drop a PM! Thanks again to my beta, FalconHawk! I'll be leaving out some common elvish and Spanish terms in the translations now. You all know the word for friend, right? Anyway! Here's the translations:_

_Andaran atish'an: '__Enter this place in peace' - A formal greeting in elvish._

_mi diosa: Spanish for 'my goddess'_

_emma vhenan'ara: 'My heart's desire'_

_vallaslin: 'Blood writing'_


	3. Chapter 3

_Content warnings: Gore and mentions of torture_

…...

We made our way down a small corridor to the lower dungeons at my word. We are closer to Howe, and with it, closer to freeing the shemlen queen.

We come to yet another plain door, and when I open it a burly looking shemlen guard squints his mud-colored eyes at me confusedly and asks, "Who goes there?" I chose to remain silent, to allow him to make the next move. He can tell I'm not human, and that my companions aren't either, for the most part.

"Hmm. You know, if you're not here on Howe's say so, we get to do with you what we like." He turns his head towards his companions, "I think we've finally got a bit of entertainment here, lads."

I snarl at him in instant anger, for he won't be getting to do anything that he wants! Not with me, and not with my companions! Not with a Dalish and a Grey Warden! We have fought and killed _dragons_! Howe's men will wish they begged for mercy!

"Ma emma harel!" I shout at him, and move to take my weapons in hand, just my companions do the same.

It is too cramped in the corridor for me to use my bow effectively, so I remove my wickedly curved daggers from their sheaths on my hips. Since befriending the flat-ear and the shemlen asha, Leliana, I have picked up their tricks during our time together on our journeys. I use their skills now to my advantage.

As I remove my right dagger, I simultaneously remove a small flask of acid that I had earlier strung to my hip. I toss the flask upwards, and hit it with the flat of my dagger to strike the shem that had just spoke to me. He screams in agony as he grasps wildly at his face, now embedded with glass and decaying rapidly with potent acid. I step forward slowly and deliberately to end his screams with a flash of my dagger, and a sharp gurgle and spray of his hot blood.

As I finish with the leader, I look and see that my companions have already dealt with the shem's friends. Oghren stands over two decapitated bodies, their blood pooling quickly at his feet, as the durgen'len smiles broadly with his crooked teeth in beserker rage-induced giddiness. I see Zevran delicately wiping the gore from his blades on a man with his shoulder bent at an odd angle, and his neck completely flayed open. His face is stoic, but I can see the hint of a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. Seeing his happiness at doing his job, at assassinating a moronic shem, I too find myself smirking. I feel an odd feeling come over me as I share in this strange, morose sort of pleasure. I look for my last companion, my fellow Warden, and see Alistair grimace as he attempts to clean his blade on the body of his fallen adversary without further disturbing the corpse. Occasionally I do find lethallin's facial expressions quite amusing. I attempt to hold in a chuckle.

As we make our way further into the dungeons we are met with more resistance. Apparently hearing the dying screams of their companions does not deter the shemlen from making war with our group. Evidently Howe is not in the habit of employing intelligent men. It is of no matter to me, for it makes our quest all the more easier to complete.

We enter a chamber with strange metal objections of various sizes and contortions lining the walls, even ropes and chains, and I hear Zevran breathe in deeply before he says sarcastically, "Ah. But I do love the smell of torture. Gets the blood pumping."

His words have alerted the torturers, and they attack us with small knives and pitiful attempts as soldiery. They are put down quickly.

We walk to the back of the room, as we still do not know where Howe is hiding, and I stop mid-step at hearing the desperate pleas of someone strung to a torturing devise, a rack, "Don't leave me here! Help me!"

I walk towards the man and peer down at him curiously. He has fair hair like Zevran, but no facial hair like most of the shemlen men I have met. He's completely bare, and his body is mottled with dark purple bruises, red marks of various sizes, and his wrists and ankles are raw and bloody where he's tied to the torturing devise. Such things sicken me. The Dalish do not delve into such practices. We kill our enemies. We do not play with them.

"Was this supposed to be some kind of lesson?" He looks up to me. His eyes are wide and fearful, "Did my father send you? Did he think it amusing to leave me here like this?"

I rub at my brow, and signal to Zevran and Alistair to loosen his bindings, for Oghren is guarding the doorway. I choose to be honest with the shem, "If your father is not Arl Eamon, then he did not send us to your rescue."

"I am the son of Bann Sigard of the Dragon's Peak bannorn, not Arl Eamon." With his wrists and ankles now free, he moves to a sitting position carefully. He's silent for a moment, until he makes eye contact with me again, "I-if you're not one of our men, please tell me who should I be thanking for my rescue?"

I nod to him in acquiescence of his request. "I am Fala Mahariel of the Grey Wardens, and these are my companions."

He shakes his head sadly, "The Wardens have suffered more than anyone in this. You have my most heartfelt gratitude, Warden, and I assume, the gratitude of my father's entire bannorn. If my father truly has sent no one after me, then I can only assume he doesn't know the true nature of those he's allied with. I must speak to him." He looks down at his bared body and badly beaten form, "But I am afraid I am in no shape to travel alone."

I sigh, "We are here for Howe. If you would stay here, we will return for you before we leave once our business is finished."

He nods, "I am afraid I don't have much of a choice."

I turn to leave the torturing chambers with Zevran practically adhered to my side. I look at him quizzically with a brow raised, as he's less than a hand's reach from me. I know the sight of these devises, and the killing that we have done does not disturb him. He is not concerned about these things, so it must be something else. He takes my elbow into his palm, and bends down to whisper in my ear once he's noticed my silent question of his behavior.

"You were not quite short with that human, as you are with others, mi amor."

Both my brows raise over my ethereal, apricot-colored eyes. _Zevran's jealous. _I can't help the smirk that plays across my lips at this knowledge. "And how is that an explanation for your newfound affinity for my shoulder, emma lath?"

He frowns and covers his heart with his other palm, "Do not wound me so, my Warden, by questioning my proximity. I am simply looking out for our leader."

"Hmm," I smirk wider. "And not at all trying to show some shem what is yours." I see his eyes narrow and darken at my words, and I grin widely.

I hear Oghren groan from behind us, "Can 'er keep it in 'er pants 'til we're done with the killin'?"

We come across yet more guards. _How many does Howe have?_ For it seems the snake is quite paranoid, as he should be. We are after his blood, and that of his mage.

There are more holding cells further in, and we find a mad soldier who dashes for his freedom as soon as the bars holding him are opened. We've silently decided to free the captives as another slight towards Howe and Loghain, by extension.

Further down the hall of cells that the madman was held in, we find one other prisoner alive, a fellow elf. A flat-ear with rust-colored hair and eyes the same color as the sky. I'm half tempted to tease Zevran further by acting... _kindly_ to this flat-ear, but I do not want Zevran's jealously and ire to cause this stranger harm. Even if he is a seth'lin.

"Aneth ara falon. Are you well?" So perhaps I wasn't able to resist completely. I look to Zevran to see his eyes narrowed and a smirk firmly in place. He knows the game I am playing at, and he's sure to seek retribution.

"Ugh." The seth'lin groans as he attempts to stand. His left arm looks dislocated, and his skin is more scabs and bruises than not. Howe truly is a sick bastard, as Alistair would say. "W-what month is it?" He looks around quickly to all members of our group, "Are you all enemies of Arl Urien's?" He grasps the rusty lock on his holdings through the bars on the door, "_Please_. It feels like I've spent half my life stuck in here."

I nod to Zevran to pick the lock on his cell, and he does so with an exaggerated eye-roll and a bow.

"Arl Urien is dead. He's been dead for months," replies Alistair. I do not pay close enough attention to the business of the noble shemlen to care if this Arl Urien is alive or not.

"Dead?" The seth'lin looks truly confused. "Then, who's ruling the Arling? Vaughan, the Arl's son, he struck me down, and I woke up in here. In this cell. The guards were whispering that people were so angry, that they were thinking of petitioning the king for my release."

"The king died at Ostagar. Loghain has taken his place. Howe is ruling Denerim." This time I answer his question.

"There have been many changes since my capture..." His voice trails off, and he steps through the now opened door of his cell, "I thank you stranger, for setting me free."

He looks truly relieved, and I bow half-way at the waist. I'm no longer teasing Zevran. The atrocities thrust unto elves at the hands of shemlen, flat-ear or not, have always affected me. In one way or another. "I am no stranger to you any longer, falon. I am Fala, of the Grey Wardens. These," I turn to the others, "are my companions: Zevran, Alistair, and Oghren."

He too bows, or at least attempts to in his beaten, mangled state of malnutrition and dehydration. "How can I ever repay you for your kindness?"

My brow scrunches, and I look at him more critically, "There is a man in a torturing chamber not far from here. Fair hair. Shemlen. Seek him out, and aid him as best you can. We will return for you and he, once our business is done."

He bows again, "I will do as you say, Warden," and he hobbles away. Apparently he knows where the torturing chamber is, for he did not ask for any further instruction. The thought too sickens me.

This entire situation, these prisoners, torture, the smell of death and decay, it all reminds me of what I saw in Zevran's illusion in the Beyond, at the hands of that demon in the shemlen mage holdings. He had been tortured in preparation to be a Crow. He had been strung up in a similar contraption to the one the bond shemlen had been to, and he had accepted it, until I questioned it.

I had gone to him afterwards, once we set up camp after that whole ordeal, far away from the shemlen holdings and homes, where I felt most comfortable – the woods. I needed it after fighting those battles, just as I'm sure the others reveled in the feel of nature's embrace too. Zevran was new in our company, and we were not yet lovers. I was concerned, however, I had never seen such devices or heard of such training. It looked quite painful. It was revolting.

"Zevran?" I asked him tentatively. I was much more cautious around him at first. I did not know how dangerous he truly was, but he gained my trust quickly. He straightened before me, as he finished the final adjustments on his tent. I had just finished with mine moments before.

"Yes, Warden?" His eyes were hard, and I wondered if he still suffered from the experience. Or if his behavior was due to something else.

"May we speak?"

He nodded and gestured at me with his hand, "If that is what you wish."

"You..." My voice trailed off and I cleared my throat. Creators! I should have thought about this some, so I would know what to say! "The Beyond. That demon. I had never seen such a thing. The one you were bound to."

He shrugged, and knew of which 'thing' I was referring to, "It is called a rack. A common devise used by the Crows. As I am sure many noblemen here use too, no?"

I furrow my brow, "I don't follow."

"Ah, sí. You are Dalish. I take it your people do not torture?" At my silence he continues, "Men like to make their enemies suffer. And they like to use pain to make those weak more willing. It is a way of gathering information too. If you are desperate, you will do anything, correct?"

My hands clench into tight fists at my sides once I fully comprehend what he has told me. Shemlen do this. They are the 'men' he speaks of. "Len'alas lath'din!" I spit. "And the shemlen use these devices on elves? And then they teach seth'lin to torture their own kind? They play with people to make them weak? To break them like they do their beasts?"

I can't help it when I start to stomp and pace before him. I must truly be a sight to see, but the crimes of the humans have no bounds, especially in light of the mage holdings. Who would hide those honored with gifts by the Creators? Who would shame them? And who would _play _with another, such as Zevran told me?

"Warden," I snap my head towards Zevran. He does not say anything, but his eyes have lost their hardness.

"You may call me Fala, Zevran. And I swear by Andruil that you will not find yourself on such a device again!"

I look to Zevran again, this time we're in Howe's dungeons surrounded by torture and death. He smiles at me, and I return it. Howe will pay for his crimes. He will not be free to torture any longer.

…...

_Note: Late-ish update! So, so sorry! This is also un-beta'd because I'm trying to get this chapter out to you as quick as I can! :D If you notice any major mistakes, or something that ought to be addressed, please let me know – and I'll fix it asap! All you readers are awesome! And we're close to Howe's demise!_

_Translations:_

_Ma emma harel: 'You should fear me'_

_Aneth ara: 'My safe place'. - a friendly greeting used most commonly used amongst the Dalish themselves_

_falon: 'friend'. - usually in reference to a non-Dalish_

_Len'alas lath'din: '__dirty child no one loves__'_


	4. Chapter 4

_Content warnings: Violence and gore_

_Note: The POV has switched to 3__rd__ person for this chapter. As mentioned in the summary, the POV will switch from 1__st__ to 3__rd__ depending on the chapter's content. Hope you enjoy the change for this one!_

…...

The Grey Wardens reached the last steel-reinforced door in the main corridor with varying degrees of trepidation and determination. If Howe was anywhere, he'd be here. There was nowhere else for him to go.

A man of average height and build with greying hair and a large nose sneered at the group in blatant anger and menace as they entered the large chamber.

"You. Shemlen," Fala nodded in the direction of the greying man. "You must be Howe... The Creator-cursed shemlen behind all these... _crimes_. Tell me, how many of my kind have died at your hands?"

"The only criminals are the trespassers on _my_ property," he ground out in a nasally voice with the telltale dialect of Ferelden's elite. "And you elves deserve no less than to be treated like the swine you are." He looked briefly towards his soldiers, "It seems this lot has decided to walk right towards their ends. How convenient."

The Dalish Warden took a step forward, and defiantly crossed her arms across her chest. "If anyone is to be taken by Fen'Harel, it is you Howe. You will feel my blade on your throat!"

"You will know your place knife-ear!" He barked, "How dare you speak to your betters in such a way!"

"My _betters_?" She snarled, and her hands slowly moved to the shortbow laying securely at her back. The dungeon chamber was large enough for her to use her preferred weapon effectively. It was also large enough for Howe's own archers to use their weapons to their advantage. Her orange-tinted gaze fluttered to each of Howe's men to gage the best course of action. Her eyes strayed to the handful of men with varying swords and shields, the two archers with a recurved longbows, and the mage in dark purple Circle robes and a twisted stave slung across his back – the reason they were traipsing through the dungeons in the first place. The elven Warden seemed to have come to a decision in that instant, and drew her bow and notched and arrow in one smooth and effortless movement. "Ar tu na'din shemlen!"

Howe quickly backed up and two of his soldiers shielded their leader with their bodies, in that instant the rest of the Warden's companions drew their weapons as they followed their leader's silent directive.

The battle between the two forces started instantaneously.

Oghren bellowed his warcry and dashed to meet Howe's soldiers, just as quickly, two feathered shafts thudded into his left shoulder. Oghren stopped and looked down at the arrows, they hadn't managed to penetrate the stolen armor very well, but were still painful. Oghren brandished his axe again and rushed the soldiers once more, as a once proud warrior and berserker of Orzammar, he wasn't about to let a little thing like two arrows to the shoulder slow him down.

"Her' 's the music," he yelled as he came near the first of the soldiers and swung his axe down, "Time ta dance!"

One's of Howe's archers notched and drew another arrow at the raging dwarf, but Fala was faster than he could ever hope to be, and in a flash she had drawn her own shortbow and fired scarcely even bothering to aim, as shooting arrows was as natural to her as pointing her finger. Her arrow flew the short distance across the dungeon chamber and buried itself in the archer's eye. The archer dropped his weapons, but his hands only came half-way up to his face before his body received the message that he was dead, and he dropped in a limp heap on the floor.

"Shemlen'alas!" Fala growled. In a flash she'd reloaded her bow and swung it around at Howe, but despite his age, the man was still light on his feet, and apparently very slippery. He'd been locked in combat with Oghren, but as he saw Fala swing her bow towards him, he spun out of the way and behind one of the room's support pillars. Fala tried to maneuver around the pillar for a shot at Howe, but another of the soldiers came running at her from her weak side, sword raised over his head.

There was no time to think, only to react. Fala twisted her body and fired her arrow into the man's stomach. At the close range she was at, the arrow punched through his armor with ease. The soldier dropped his sword and clutched at the fatal wound. He would probably be dead within a few seconds, but Fala took no chances, and with her right hand drew one of her kris daggers. She had closed the distance in two steps, and thrust her arm out and upward. Her wickedly curved dagger cut through his neck like butter, and she pulled the dagger backwards towards herself, quite needlessly cutting through his neck again and nearly severing his head. The dagger went back into its sheath in the same motion and Fala notched another arrow. She turned look for Howe.

Fala would never see him, but as she flung herself at the swordsman, another of Howe's soldiers had been approaching from behind, trying to be stealthy if not honorable, but then there never had been any true honor in battle. Just as Fala brought her dagger back and forth through his comrade's neck, the soldier raised his own blade. The next thing he knew someone had grabbed his wrist from behind and there was the ice-cold touch of steal as a dagger was drawn across his throat, then the burning sensation as the tender flesh was cut, and his blood poured from the open wound.

"Always be ready, _mi amor_." Zevran purred, "I would have thought I trained you better than that."

Fala turned, and Zev couldn't help but smile at the look of shock that came over her tattooed face, '_So beautiful… so deadly._' He thought, then said, "Use your bow my dear Warden, I will deal with any foolish enough to come close!"

When battle had first been joined, Alistair had moved forward alongside Oghren to engage the bulk of Howe's soldiers, however, in the seconds that followed, Alistair heard the mage, the same one they had come to kill, begin to chant a spell. Alistair didn't know what the spell was intended to do, although he very much doubted it would make their lives any more comfortable. Alistair pivoted, and pushing with both his sword and shield, threw the soldier he was battling to the side, and the soldier stumbled into the mage. The mage's spellcasting was interrupted by the surprise, but he managed to stay on his feet and pushed the soldier back at Alistair, directly onto Alistair's sword, then began to chant another spell.

Alistair kicked the soldier off of his blade, as he quickly realized he would not able to reach the mage before he finished the spell, and his mind flashed back to his Templar training. Alistair reached out his hand to drain the mage's magic, but again was too slow, and a cloud of poisonous gas formed around him, stinging his eyes, and burning his throat and lungs. Alistair attempted to counter the spell with his own Templar 'magic', when the features around the room began to change. The stones of the walls turned into the faces of shrieking gargoyles, with darkspawn lunging out of every shadow to swing at him with their curved blades. Alistair screamed and raised his shield in defense, but the nearest darkspawn sword passed straight through it, and through his own body before disappearing into thin air and the next darkspawn came in for an attack.

'_What is this?_' Alistair thought, then quickly realized that in addition the cloud of poison gas, the mage had also cast a horror spell on him, bringing nightmares from the recesses of his mind to life. Alistair retched as he sucked in a breath of air, poison gas coming with it, then he summoned his powers and unleashed them in a cleansing wave, what appeared to be white smoke radiating from his body, clearing the cloud of gas and destroying the illusion that the mage had cast.

"Now it's my turn!" Alistair yelled.

Most of the soldiers who had stood against Oghren now lay dead around him. There were only two left now, and that blasted blighter, Howe himself. Howe moved with surprising grace as Oghren hacked at him with his battleaxe, then struck back with his own single-hand axe at Oghren's face. Oghren barely managed to duck, and could not avoid the dagger Howe held in his left hand as he stepped around the dwarf and drove the dagger into his back. Oghren growled in pain and swung around, seeking Howe with his axe again, but again the man danced out of the way and swung at Oghren his own axe again, this time connecting with Oghren's helmet. The blow would have crippled, or perhaps even killed any of the others, but dwarves are a thick-boned people, and Oghren was no common dwarven soldier. He was a berserker, and the blow to the head barely dazed him. He jumped forward, axe moving in a blur as he swung horizontally at Howe.

Perhaps the older Howe was surprised that the dwarf could recover so quickly from what should have been a crippling blow, but whatever the reason, Howe wasn't fast enough this time, and Oghren's axe bit into his waist. The only thing that saved Howe's life was his armor, thick studded leather with metal plates cleverly concealed within the leather. Howe screamed out in pain and pulled back yet again. Now his back was against the wall, and Oghren moved in for the kill, the battle-rage burning in his blood-shot eyes, and then Howe sprung his trap. He'd been pretending to be hurt worse than he was, and ducked and spun out of the way, letting the heavy axe connect with the wall and briefly paralyzing Oghren's arms. Howe lashed out with his dagger seeking Oghren's relatively unprotected throat. Howe was only vaguely aware of the elven Warden shouting something from across the room, but then he felt a burning pain in his shoulder and realized the wretched elf had just shot him!

"Halam sahlin!" Fala screamed as she reached for another arrow, "Ma halam, shemlen'alas!" _This ends now! You are finished, dirt-human!_ Her second arrow took Howe in the chest, and the older man toppled over backwards to land hard on the floor. Fala looked around to room and located Alistair, still locked in battle with the mage, although from the look of it, that part of the battle wasn't going to last much longer.

Alistair reached out with his will, reaching out with the Templar 'magic'. The mage screamed as he felt his magic being drained from his body and sank to his knees. "Mercy!" The mage screamed as he saw the man who could only have been a Templar advancing towards him with sword at the ready.

"No mercy for the likes of you!" Alistair growled. "I'm doing Ferelden a favor here!" Alistair brought his sword down hard at the mage where his neck and shoulder connected.

With Howe and the mage now dealt with, victory was practically within their grasp. A badly injured Oghren still fought against two soldiers, and although he had so far managed to hold his own, it was obvious that he couldn't hold on for much longer.

Zevran ran forward as fast as his elven legs could take him, coming up behind one of the last two soldiers he swung low with one of his daggers, cutting into back of the soldier's knee, and running on past the soldier even before he hit the ground. The last remaining enemy soldier looked up from Oghren too late, and saw Zevran coming at him with daggers stretched out to opposite sides. Zevran stabbed inwards with both hands, daggers entering either side of the man's neck and exiting the other end. Zev pulled both his blades forwards with such savagery that the soldier's head came off and rolled away on the floor. Without hesitating for even half a second, Zev fell backwards, rolling back and coming up to one knee beside the soldier he'd already crippled and drove a dagger down into his chest. The soldier shuddered once and then lay still.

Alistair's whole body was shaking both with pain and fatigue as he looked around the room that was now more of slaughterhouse than anything else. "Is that all?" He asked in a voice turned to gravel from the poison. "Oh, please tell me that's all of them!"

"Not quite!" Fala said coldly, and she replaced her bow across her back again and strode forward until she was standing over Howe. Howe held one hand over his chest where the arrow protruded, and propped himself up with his other arm. As he looked up at Fala, his eyes held no fear or even pain, only pure, unbridled hatred.

He was bleeding profusely from his wounds, and his breath was coming in short, quick gasps. He was dying. His end was near. Everyone knew it, they could see it clearly, and so they didn't draw their arms. Howe was no longer a threat.

"May the Maker spit on you!" He gasped as blood leaked from the corner of his mouth and sprayed with each labored word. "I... deserved...more!"

He fell back, too weak to hold his body any longer, and started to breathe quickly and harshly. The wet hiss of his pants started coming in a fast tempo as Fala walked forward to ensure his life's end. She muttered to the man as she pressed her blade to his throat, "I'll show you a trick that'll help you meet the 'Maker'," and ended his life with a thorough swipe of her curved blade Tulan, or _Causer _in the common-tongue, along the vulnerable tissues of his neck. She stood and sheathed her dagger Tulan to lay safely at her hip like its brother, Harellan, or _Trickster_, before turning to her companions. Her eyes flickered to each to ensure their health, straying longest on the elven assassin, and her brow furrowing as she gazed at the dwarf.

"Are you well durgen'len?" Fala asked with a semblance of concern.

Oghren grunted and pulled and broke the shafts of the two arrows embedded in his pilfered guard's armor. "Nothin' I can't handle, Warden."

Her brow furrowed further. The dwarf hardly ever referred to her by her title, now that they're on friendly terms. She quickly fished through a large pouch on her belt, and removed a vile filled with a blood-red liquid, that, despite its stopper, stank strongly of elfroot. She handed it wordlessly to Oghren, who quickly pulled the stopper out with his teeth and spat it to the side. Now that his berserker rage had faded, he could better feel the injuries he gained during the skirmish. His head felt as if an anvil was beating against his skull. The elfroot potion served to dull the pain, and aid his body's natural healing.

Once the others had tended to their wounds as well, with Alistair taking liberal drinks of water from both his and Fala's canteens, the elves searched the room quickly for anything they could use to their advantage. Finding nothing of significance, they came to a door at the back of the chamber, plain and unimposing.

"Shall we enter, my Warden?" Zevran gestured at the door as his hand grasped the handle.

She shrugged and turned towards where the two warriors of their group were standing amongst the carnage. "Lethallin," she called towards her fellow Warden, "Come with us, and Oghren stand guard." A smirk graced her lips, "And do not strain yourself, durgen'len." The dwarf scowled and moved his hands in a rude dwarven gesture, and Fala shook her head in amusement at the familiar action.

Zevran opened the door, and none were too surprised to find more cells once they entered. A human man with reddish-blond hair, and facial hair groomed in a shape Alistair would recognize as a goatee, stood in the first occupied cell they came across. His clothes were crinkled and dirty, but obviously of good make. His hands, as they grasped the bars of his holdings upon hearing nearing footsteps, were unblemished and, despite his circumstance, clean, signifying that he probably never had a hard day's labor in his young life.

He harrumphed as the small party drew near. "Who's there?" He smacked his thin lips, "You can stay away." The two Wardens and former assassin continued to approach his cell, and the man yelled out, "You can't do anything to me! I'll have all of you flayed for this! I am Denerim's Arl!"

Alistair raised a brow as they came to a stop in front of the man's cell, "Arl Uriel died at Ostagar, and you're not him. Who are you?"

The man rolled his eyes, and straightened his posture half-heartedly, "I'm Vaughan Kendalls, heir to the Arling of Denerim. You speak the truth. Since so many of our troops were lost at Ostagar, Howe came with soldiers to reinforce the garrison here when those pesky Alienage riots started. Or that's what the bastard claimed. As soon as I let him into the palace, he threw me in here. In this filth. One more victim of the uprising, he said." He grasped the bars more firmly with his pale hands, "Release me. I'll do anything."

Fala tilted her head curiously, the name was distantly familiar to her, "If you are who you claim, the Grey Wardens could use your support at the Landsmeet."

The man wrinkled his nose distastefully at Fala, but swallowed his pride and said, "Of course. Anything. Just let me out of here."

"We will free you," she clarified, "and you will come with us as we gather our companions and complete our business here. Then you will be certain to support the Wardens. And only the Wardens, or the problem of your freedom will be the last thing you worry about."

He rolled his eyes, "Very well, so long as I am rid of this place in the end."

Fala snorted at the nobleman. If they were not so desperate for allies against Loghain, and if she were certain that Alistair would've have thought ill about the decision, she would've left the nobleman in his cell, since she dislikes the noble's personality. The way he chooses to speak. Zevran moved to pick the lock on his cell, and it took much more time as it was far more rusted than the other locks they have encountered. As they waited for the assassin to finish, Fala and Alistair moved down the short hall and encountered a former Templar in the midst of lyrium withdraw. They spoke to the man in those minutes, and attempted to convince him to take his freedom. Being too haunted in his own mind, he would only give Fala a ring with instructions to take it to his sister Alfstanna. She passed the ring to Zevran to inspect, as he was fond of such things, once he finished with the lock on the nobleman's cell. Zevran immediately placed the ring on a suitable finger, then held his hand out before himself to admire it. Fala couldn't contain a chuckle as she rolled her eyes at Zevran's expense. The two Wardens, assassin, and nobleman made their way to the large chamber where Oghren stood on guard waiting for them. Vaughan visibly recoiled and gagged at seeing the strewn bodies in various contortions in death, with blood and matter decorating the floor and walls. Oghren grunted a chuckle at seeing that.

The small party made their way through the main hall of the dungeons to the torturing chamber, where the nobleson and flat-ear await their return.

They pushed through the door, and Fala called out, "Falon! It is us, the Wardens."

The red-haired elf emerged from the back room, supporting the now sparsely clothed blond nobleson with one of the human's hands on his shoulder. The elf's face instantly grew red in anger at seeing the other nobleman, and he shouted, "Vaughan! What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same thing, you knife-eared scum!" The man barked back in reply. "I thought you were put down like the worthless beast you are!"

Vaughan didn't even notice that the elven Warden had drawn one of her daggers, until he felt the cold metal pushed against the top of his throat. "Explain yourself shemlen," Fala hissed in a dangerous tone. "Explain yourself, or I will _kill you._"

He glared at the shorter woman, and swallowed. Her blade did not move from against his throat, and the swallowing action only served to push the blade further into his skin. Slight pin-pricks of blood bubbled up against the extraordinarily sharp blade in response. "The knife... _elf_ trespassed on my property and killed my personal guards."

"Only because you kidnapped the women from my wedding party!" The city-elf shouted and took the steps forward necessary to close the gap between them, leaving the blond nobleson to support himself against the wall. "He was in the middle of raping my cousin Shianni when I came into his room!"

"You _little_..." Vaughan's fist recoiled back with the intention of striking the smaller man, but his fist never made contact, as Fala's blade drew deeply against his throat to spill his life's blood over the front of his expensive shirt. He gurgled in an attempt to draw breath, and quickly fell to the floor in a heap at the elves' feet.

Fala spit a glob of saliva on Vaughan's still warm corpse, and cursed, "Len'alas lath'din!"

The city-elf blinked at the corpse laying on the floor, blood spilling to coat the bottoms of his worn boots, and looked up to meet the luminous gaze of the elven Warden who had removed her too-large helmet just before she spat on the body. "T-thank you," he stuttered. "I... I suppose."

She lowered her head politely, "It is of no consequence, falon. The shemlen'alas deserved death for his actions."

"You... you're Dalish?" He asked as he studied the now completely revealed green tattoos adorning her face, as her dark hair was pulled back into a simple tail. He had suspected before, but seeing her brutal actions made him question. She nodded, and he held out the hand of his uninjured arm. "I don't know if I've said my name, but I'm Soris Tabris." She took his hand awkwardly, and they shook once.

"I don't mean to interrupt," the fair-haired nobleson called out, "but I could use some help."

"Oh, Oswyn!" Soris exclaimed and spun around. "I apologize for leaving you there."

"It's no problem," Alistair said as he stepped forward to aid the nobleson in Soris' stead, "I've got him."

Fala procured two small vials of health potion, and passed one to Alistair for Oswyn as he walked past her. She gave the other to Soris after opening it for him. She looked at the men standing around her with her lips thinned into a tight line. Her gaze traveled to the cooling body laying at her booted feet, and she shook her head. "Lets hurry and gather the shemlen Queen. I'm done with this place."

…...

_Note: Extra, extra loooong chapter! I don't know if this one will be unique in that aspect. Also, this chapter was 3__rd__ person to accommodate for the sheer amount of action in it, that would otherwise have suffered in quality if it were 1__st__. This will also not be the only 3__rd__ person chapter, as the POVs will switch on occasion. Apologies in advance if that's confusing. Anyways! This chapter would not have been possible, nor it's awesomeness would have been possible, if it weren't for FalconHawk. He _literally _wrote the major fight scene from the line starting "Oghren bellowed his warcry" to the sentence starting, "As he looked up at Fala, his eyes held no fear or even pain". So I suppose this chapter could be considered a co-chapter between myself and my awesomesauce beta FalconHawk. :D Thanks so much again for writing the fight scene! :D Send him kind words people! (and take a look at one of his stories)_

_Translations:_

_Ar tu na'din: 'I will kill you'_

_Shemlen'alas: 'dirt-human'. - an insult_

_Tulan: 'Causer'_

_Harellan: 'Trickster'_

_Len'alas lath'din: 'dirty child no one loves '. - an insult_


End file.
